


There's This Idiot

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, Oblivious Eliot, quentin accidentally eavesdrops, rambling quentin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 09:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10828140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: So I wrote a really, really angsty oneshot earlier and decided to make up for it with this cotton candy fluff fest.Quentin doesn’t even remember falling asleep in the nook. But here he is, waking up, curled in on himself, with both of the sliding doors shut almost all the way. For a moment, he’s confused, mouth smacking together with sleep and thirst. He’s not sure what wakes up him up, but there’s a soft hum of voices beyond the doors. For a moment, he’s tempted to push them up and reveal himself, but the familiar sounds of Eliot and Margo’s laughing, followed by Todd’s disgruntled, confused grumbling, stays him for a moment.





	There's This Idiot

Quentin doesn’t even remember falling asleep in the nook. But here he is, waking up, curled in on himself, with both of the sliding doors shut almost all the way. For a moment, he’s confused, mouth smacking together with sleep and thirst. He’s not sure what wakes up him up, but there’s a soft hum of voices beyond the doors. For a moment, he’s tempted to push them up and reveal himself, but the familiar sounds of Eliot and Margo’s laughing, followed by Todd’s disgruntled, confused grumbling, stays him for a moment.

He sits up, book three of Fillory and Further falling off him stomach and landing on the cushion behind him with a soft plop. He freezes, thinking it’ll alert them to his presence, but nobody comes forward to rip the doors open and call him out for spying on them. 

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” Margo asks after a few long minutes of nothing but the sound of Quentin’s guilty breathing, and of ice being jostled around in a glass - presumably Eliot’s cocktail of the hour. 

He can hear Eliot’s long exhale, probably a cigarette. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” He responds, sounding a bit to suave, even for Eliot. Quentin resists a smile, as he scoots a bit closer to the nook doors, carefully to keep himself steady and to not crash against them. The last thing he needs to do is lose his only friends because a fresh round of paranoia and the urge to eavesdrop and make sure they don’t secretly hate him has decided to rear it’s head. 

“About Quentin.” 

Quentin’s heart drops. Because of course. They’re trying to figure out how to let him down easily. For once the depression induced paranoia hit the nail on the head. If he were still going to a therapist, this would be one of those things he’d opt to not mention. Admitting defeat to depression, is not exactly something that would keep him from immediate readmission. 

“Ah, this again?” Eliot murmurs, so soft Quentin almost can’t hear him. “You’ve really got to let this subject go, Bambi.” 

“I can’t when you’re mooning after him like some sad, sick, little lost lamb.” 

Wait - _what_?

“I am not mooning -,”

“Fine,” Margo amends, “Not mooning . . . pining? Longing? Oh, maybe yearning? No, no . . . you’re right. _Achingly watching from a distance_ is probably more accurate.” 

Eliot huffs. “You’re obsessed.” 

“Only when I’m right.” 

They’re quiet for a few minutes, drinking, smoking, probably cuddling on the couch like they alway do. And Quentin’s about to try and go back to sleep, when Eliot says, “What if you are? He’s straight.” 

She scoffs. “Please. That boy is more bi than a bicycle at a tricycle convention.” 

Quentin nods to himself, she’s not exactly wrong. He’s always been attracted to whoever he’s attracted to - no specifications, no prerequisites, no anything - just whoever makes him feel alive. And, Alice may have been the first person he confessed his interest in, but she’s by far not the only one. Or the main one. He’s just always assumed Eliot would never, in a million years look his way as more than the poor, little sad first year he took under his wing. 

And Quentin does have feelings for Alice, but they had their thing at Brakebills, and everything fizzled out after the scent of the fox wore off and they realized they’re better off as friends. 

But, he has a strong, overwhelming feeling that what he feels for Eliot, as strong and annoyingly profound as it is, isn’t going anywhere. He’s just always assumed it’s this one sided stupid little crush. Because Eliot is, well, Eliot, and Quentin is so resolutely _not_. 

“What makes -,”

“Honey,” Something gets set down on the coffee table, “He’s bi. _Make your move already._ ” 

“I don’t want to scare him off.” 

Maybe six months ago an advance from Eliot would have sent Quentin running in the opposite direction, desperate to believe that this is some cruel prank, okay, maybe even six minutes ago - but that’s not his fault. He knows Eliot now. Knows what makes him tick. Knows when he’s about to fall apart, and wha to say to keep him from falling over the edge. Knows just where to press into his shoulders to relax him. Knows his drink of choice, and how exactly to prepare it to get that proud grin after a first sip. 

“El -,” 

“I’m going to bed.” 

“It’s only 2am,” Margo argues, but Quentin can hear the rustling of fabric as they both get up, “It’s too early.” 

“It’s been a long day, and I’m tired. You can either join me, or go find someone else to cuddle up with.” 

Margo sighs. “You’re lucky I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Quentin hears one of them kiss the other, and then they’re walking up the stairs, and the lights turn off, leaving Quentin alone in the nook with his books, and his thoughts. 

And, jesus, he has a lot of thoughts.

Though, for once they’re not circling around in this disgusting circle of self hate and paranoia, because he has something else to focus on: 

Telling Eliot just how god damn, magically bi he is. 

 

* 

 

Of course it all goes terribly, terribly wrong. 

Because Margo is watching him, and Eliot’s avoiding him, and it’s this whole big stupid game of cat and mouse, where for the first god damn time in his life Quentin is somehow simultaneously the cat and the mouse. He spends half the day trying to track Eliot down, but every time he even gets near, Margo’s pulling him aside for fashion advice, or to look at this new spell she learned, or ‘ _How should I do my hair for tomorrow’s party? I don’t need you to tell me if I look good, just tell me which one looks better. Be honest, pumpkin. Or I will curse you_.’ 

And, look, Quentin’s a relatively calm, collected guy, but fuck if he doesn’t get to kiss Eliot, or _something_ , by the end of the day, he’s going to lose his fucking mind. Because he has been fantasizing about this for months, and after spending all that time thinking it’s nothing more than a fantasy, only to learn, hey we could have been making out this whole time - he’s got some time to make up for. 

A lot of time.

Because if he’s at all honest with himself, he would’ve jumped Eliot that first day if not for the obvious wonder at magic being real, Eliot being so blatantly out of his league, and did Quentin mention _magic_? 

When Penny appears in the cottage, bored and uninterested, Quentin tries so desperately not to think about it. But apparently focusing on not thinking about it makes him forget to focus on his wards, and suddenly Penny’s tilt his head and turning to him with an evil little smirk, and Eliot’s not even at the cottage, and Quentin wants to fucking die.

“Oh really?” Penny asks, slow and evil because he’s an evil bastard and Quentin hates him. 

Margo looks up from her magazine, waves a hand, “What’s happening here?” She asks, glaring up at Penny. “You two aren’t fucking are you?” Suddenly, she snaps the magazine shut and sits up straight, turning her glare on Quentin. “Are you?” 

Penny scoffs. “Not even in his wildest dreams.”Quentin tilts his head, starts thinking the lyrics to Taylor Swifts Wildest Dreams as loud as he possibly can until Penny growls, sneering at him. “If you know what’s best for you -,”

He stops midlyric, thinks at him, ‘ _Make her leave me alone long enough to find Eliot, and I’ll spend as long as it takes getting extra tutoring on my wards._ ’ Penny narrows his eyes, before nodding quick and short. “Actually,” He says turning on his heel and smirking at Margo. “I’m here for you.” 

Margo’s eyebrow perks in interest. “For me.” 

Penny nods. “Eliot’s not around is he?” 

She rolls her eyes, waving a flippant hand, “No. He’s studying like a nerd in the library. No amount nipple clamps can save him from an oral exam.” She shrugs a shoulder, placing her hands on her hips, “Apparently it’s not the fun kind of oral exam either.” 

Pen closes his eyes for a moment, clearly trying to avoid saying something dickish. “That’s . . . great. I guess.” He sighs, “Look. Let’s go out.” 

Quentin takes the moment shock runs across her face in every variation as his opportunity to sneak out of the cottage to go find Eliot. He tosses a soft thanks to the thought void, hoping Penny catches it, and starts running across campus. 

When he finds himself standing in front of Eliot’s table, he’s surprised to find he’s not lost his courage. His breath, from running all the way across campus, absolutely. His general overall decent composure, yeah that’s gone.

But hey, he’s got his courage. And a load of sweat pouring down his neck and back. That’s a great image for Eliot to look up and a see; a red faced, sweaty Quentin, grinning ear to ear like an idiot. A confused, soppy, courageous idiot. 

And the look on Eliot’s face is enough tos ay he thinks the same. His eyes track down Quentin’s body, taking in the mess that he is, before he sets his pencil down, leans one forearm against the top of the table, and looks up at him curiously. “Dare I even ask?” 

And Quentin takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his very wet, sweaty hair and nods. “Yeah. You should ask.” 

Quentin waves the hand that isn’t on the table in a go on motion. “Okay. Consider this me asking. What the _fuck_?”

Quentin nods, turning to his left and starting to pace as he wrings his hands in front of him. “See it all started last night, this morning, whatever,” He looks at him, “It was while the sun was down and the moon was up, technically night but also considered day. Anyways,” He waves one of his hands, looking ahead of him as he continues pacing, “I found out this guy I like likes me. Which, wow, kind of a big deal, right?” He looks at Eliot, chewing on his lip with a frantic nod to himself, but he doesn’t wait for a response. “Then today, I’m like, I have this whole big plan where I’m going to go all ‘surprise you’re an idiot I’m bi! Tada!’ But of course,” He stops to raise a finger to the sky, making a face, “Of fucking course!

“This guy chooses today of all days to avoid me.” He lets his eyes slide over to Eliot for a moment. He’s sat up straight, arms crossed over his chest, a look of mild curiosity on his face as he watches Quentin pace back and forth. “Which - I can deal with that. I can find a way to fix that. Avoidence is my specialty, I can trick people out of not avoiding me if I have to. But no. This guy, this stupid, amazing guy, he has his best friend try and distract me because he knows,” He stops pacing, turning to glare at Eliot, “He knows! I’ll come looking for him. But whatever. It’s fine. 

“So, I spend all day trying to sneak away from this amazing guys best friend, who is also amazing, by the way. I love her to bits. Beside the point, though. In order to escape the grasp of her dangerously sharp claw nails, I have to strike a deal with the devil!”

“The devil?” Eliot nods to himself, his lips twitching as he tries to fight off a smile. “Steep odds for a guy.”

“I know!” Quentin exclaims, “But the devil agrees to help, and I finally - finally - get away from this guys best friend. And I have to run all the way across campus, under the blazing sun in a fucking sweatshirt and jeans because I didn’t think to change, because all I could focus on was finally getting to kiss this stupid, stupid man. So I get there, I finally get there, and he’s actually studying - like, genuinely reading a book to avoid me. Which is frustrating. But then I realize I’m all sweaty and angry and sexually frustrated amongst other things - just as he looks up at me.” He pauses to breathing, heaving in a big breath as Eliot watches him carefully. “And the only thing this stupid man seems capable of doing is staring at me!” 

Eliot nods, pushing his chair back and standing up so Quentin has to look up at him as he slowly rounds the table. Quentin takes a small step back with every step forward Eliot takes, until his back bumps up against a shelf of books. “So, let me see if I got this right,” Eliot murmurs, swiping his index finger overtop the table as he passes it. “You’re not straight. You’re desperate to get fucked. And you’re in love with some oblivious asshole who just doesn’t appreciate all you’ve been through today? Is that about the jist?” 

He swallows as Eliot stops just a few inches away from him. “ S-Sounds about right.” 

Eliot hums, closing the space between them, his hand coming up to cup the back of Quentin’s neck. He doesn’t even make a face at the dampness there, just smiles down at him. “So, say this apparently attractive idiot were to make it up to you. How would he go about doing that?” 

Quentin shrugs, leaning into Eliot’s touch. “I mean. A good place to start would be a kiss . . . I can’t think of anywhere to end.” 

Smirking, Eliot leans down to whisper in his ear, “Oh, Q, I can think of so many places to end.” And then he moves around and presses his lips against Quentins, and jesus christ it’s so much more than any of the _stupid, pointless, never going to ever seem good enough again_ fantasies. 

And then when Eliot’s tongue sweeps across the seam of Quentin’s lips, he swears he see’s a glimpse of god in the distance giving him a thumbs up. 

“Thank fuck,” He murmurs against Eliot’s mouth.

Eliot pulls away, looks down at him, one of his thumbs coming up to sweep along Quentin’s cheek, along his jaw line, “Oh, Q.” He says, soft, “We’ll get there, just not yet.” He smirks before leaning back in, pulling Quentin’s body taut against his own as they crash into the bookshelf behind them.

Quentin doesn’t even feel the spine of the books jabbing into his spine he’s so fucking happy. Sweaty and happy. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I felt really really bad about killing Quentin in another fic so here have him being frustrated then sexually frustrated and happy.


End file.
